The Bleak Midwinter
by EluredandElurin
Summary: My first entry to Teitho for the prompt "Memories" which, in hindsight, is definitely not as good as I thought it was. Feedback would be appreciated. Rated for being sad...


The Bleak Midwinter

Rating- K+ for an unhealthy amount of angst

Notes- Inspired by my music playlist, including Undo by Rush of Fools and Healing Begins by Tenth Avenue North

Súlamath was a time to break the darkness of winter, to enjoy the soft blanket of snow, to be kind, and mostly to have hope. That was what Oropher had told an impatient Thranduil, even as the threat of Sauron loomed. The Elvenking smiled as he watched people rushing cheerily about, even as his heart cringed with remembrance. So many years ago he had celebrated for the first time without his father, and now without his son.

The happy chaos swept the glum elf up in its wake, carrying him like a tidal wave through to the night's feast. He had invited an emissary from Ithilien, foolish as it was. A nervous servant shuffled up and bowed deeply. "My Lord-"

 _He hated it when Legolas bowed to him like that, like a mere Silvan. "Rise, son," he said stiffly. "What is it you wish?"_

 _"_ _The creature Gollum has escaped, as you know, and tidings must be sent. Lord Elrond, at least, should know. And war is coming upon the land, or at least some darkness, so you should send me. I am more likely than most to succeed, and I wish to help after the message is sent."_

 _His heart screamed at him to say no, but the boy would likely disobey._

"What?!"

The servant smiled nervously. "The representatives from Ithilien have arrived." But when Thranduil peered through the crowds, he saw no flash of fair hair nor the glint of blue eyes. Of course Legolas had not come.

 _"_ _You have said it yourself, danger lurks in dark corners, and I would not send my firstborn, my only son."_

 _"_ _Then you would send another in my place," Legolas replied bitterly, "One whose blood can be shed without any pain, any guilt on your part. There is war outside, and yet you hide. I would go in your stead, yet you care not what happens as long as your heart is safe and so deny my request."_

 _"_ _You think you know of war? I have lost, seen, done worse thigs than you can ever begin to imagine. You are young still, and perhaps you haven't realized that war is not glory! Screams accompany it, death, wounds of the soul and of the flesh."_

 _"_ _I_ _understand more than you think, Father. I am no child." Legolas turned to leave. "I depart at dawn."_

 _Thranduil had conquered his pride by then, masking his fear as he watched his son ride away._

The Elvenking rose to greet the men, a few important servants and a soldier, who told him that Ithilien was preparing a Midwinter's celebration of their own. He managed to get through the pleasantries, slogging in the formal etiquette, then finally returned to his room in peace.

 _War. An early charge, a sliver of gold eating through black then themselves being utterly consumed. Screaming, his own. A restraining arm, the stupid Noldo and his half-breed pet, concern written over their faces. They could not stop him, but ended up following, the hosts of Elves and Men behind him. Then, through the air came-_

A knock jolted Thranduil back to the present, and a servant looked in. "Did you need anything before we slept?" Thranduil wanted to say yes, to beg someone to stop the memories, but, as often happened, he replied no. The servant bobbed his head, then scurried away, leaving the Elvenking to shiver alone with his memories of death and pain and sorrow.

 _Then, through the air came flaming missiles, fire spreading with unnatural speed and malice. He thought he was safe, among the hosts of Sauron. Yet the flames blew up into towering walls, eating anything that stood near it. Including a rash elf prince._

 _When he awoke, he found himself in a tent. The air was thick with moisture, and the sound of moaning covered up clashing steel and screams. He sat up stiffly, pain burning through his whole right side and forcing him back down._

 _The nurse swiveled around nervously. "I'll get Elrond." Before long, the healer hurried in._

 _"_ _How do you feel?" Elrond spoke quickly, efficiently._

 _"_ _What's- going on?"_

 _"_ _What do you remember?" The elf's eyes were suddenly heartbreakingly compassionate._

 _"_ _The battle," Thranduil began, "But- No. No, no, no, it can't be true." He struggled to sit up, to get to his feet though the pain made him dizzy. Oropher must be just around the corner or fighting._

 _He swayed on his feet, triumphant, but his legs collapsed when he tried to take a step. Elrond caught him and helped him back to the bed._

 _"_ _You are not yet healed." Exhausted, he slumped back, eyes still blazing._

 _"_ _My father is dead then?" the elf asked miserably. "What does that make me? King of foolishness, heir to folly, weak and pathetic."_

 _"_ _You are not weak simply because you need help," Elrond said, turning to leave._

Thranduil awoke, not wanting to return to the land of dreams, yet it reclaimed him.

 _The son of Oropher wondered that Sauron did not flee, as Elendil and Isildur, Gil-galad, Círdan and Elrond fought their way towards his fortress._

 _Gil-galad knocked thrice before crying, "Elendil, King of Gondor and Arnor and I, Ereinion Gil-galad challenge the Dark Lord Sauron to come forth from him dark hiding place. End at last this conflict, two Children of Ilúvatar against a Maia."_

 _An orc shouted down from the ramparts after a time. "As challenged, Lord Sauron has chosen to fight upon the slopes of Orodruin."_

 _And though he loathed the memory of death, Thranduil watched as the two greatest of their kind perished under the hand of Sauron, and he was not even truly defeated in the act._

 _War was a fickle thing, ever cruel to him, yet kind to his son, who cared not for his old home anymore._

Emyn Arnen was a flurry of activity as all worked in their kitchens or decorated. There would be a feast that night, where the everyone one would bring their own contributions and eat in fancy halls. The smallest serving girl would eat her fill that day, though she might not for the next weeks, and she would go on her way sufficiently cheered.

Legolas excused himself from the peeling of endless mounds of potatoes, which Gimli had arranged so kindly for him to do. There was an anonymous thought floating in the back of his mind, flitting just out of reach.

As the Prince searched his mind, he figured out what had been bothering him. From before the Fellowship, before the war, when his heart had rested with the forest. In the caves of the Elvenking, the midwinter brought with it a festival, where all were invited. He had gone to it, what, a year ago? The woods had been dark, sullied by the presence of evil.

He stumbled up to his room, shutting the door and sitting with his back against it. Legolas hated to think of his father, and he hated that a mere memory could shake him so.

He closed his eyes against the recollections. An ineffectual gesture, like a man trying to quench the sun by scribbling "dark" on his wall.

 _A young elfling held up a silver trophy, grinning widely. "Look, Ada! I got second at the archery contest!" His smile began to fade at the corners. "It's only because the Captain's son is really good… You know him!" But the cold blue eyes just watched disapprovingly before their owner swept away._

 _He was older, almost grown, and had been sent to Imladris for training at combat. Glorfindel called pointers to Elladan and Legolas as they sparred. They grinned fiercely at each other, and Elladan finally managed to disarm his opponent with a well-timed twist._

 _Glorfindel called the match to a halt, then turned to a figure standing in the shadows. "Lord Thranduil," he greeted, bowing from respect rather than necessity._

 _Later, as father and son rode home, Legolas withered under his father's glare. "You let Elrond's son best you? What then is the point of training you?"_

 _"_ _He's older than me and of higher lineage." A dark silence fell. "What is it you have against Elrond? Is it that you know he is superior to you? Nobler, kinder, wiser, and born to be better, I'd say." Legolas' horse shied as his heart began to race._

 _"_ _Careful, boy," Thranduil spat, spurring his horse on ahead. Legolas let him go._

 _Legolas and two Silvan warriors came back dragging a fourth between them, bruised and weary. He tried his best to ignore his father, personally seeing to the wounded elf's care._

 _But, of course, there finally came a time when he had nothing left to do._

 _Adrenaline ran through the young elf as he walked past his father, head down._

 _"_ _Legolas," Thranduil called, tone icy. "Please go up to your room. I need to talk with you."_

 _He had no choice but to obey. "I'm sorry, Adar," the Prince said, "There was an ambush."_

 _That was the first time since his mother's death that his father had yelled at him._

Legolas bowed his head down almost to his knees. How long had he been just sitting there? A knock sounded at the door, causing him to leap to his feet and peer out.

Beregond stood at the door. "My Lord Faramir has asked me to inform you that dinner will be ready quite soon and requests your presence." The elf sighed and followed. He ate distractedly, mustering a smile or bland reply when prompted.

Leaving a brief note with the gatekeeper, Legolas rode for home at dawn. Thoughts swirled through his head, fear that his father would be brusque as ever, that his home would be his no longer. As the Greenwood drew closer, the horse increased its pace under his unconscious signals, lathered with sweat. By then, he was riding through the forest, and someone took the poor horse away.

Dúath, a childhood friend and the Captain of the Guard, greeted him. "Greenleaf. It has been a while." Legolas smiled as his friend pulled him into a tight embrace.

"Is something wrong? You were waiting for me-?"

The Silvan swore softly, biting his lip. "It's your father. We found him asleep in fevered dreams last night. Sickness, I think, of the heart. Fading."

"I- can you take care of things?" Legolas felt his hands begin to shake.

"Yes, my friend," Dúath said kindly. "He's in his room."

Legolas felt as if he were just an uncertain child again, and he pulled a chair beside Thranduil's bed, sitting. The elf was white as a sheet, his lips tinged grey and skin cold to the touch. He still had a relatively strong pulse, and Legolas sat on the edge of the chair to clutch his hand. "Come home, please, oh, just come back. If this is some sort of trick, it isn't funny!" His voice rose in pitch, shaking as it went. Then he bowed his head, afraid.

Legolas sprang awake, guilt settling like a stone into his gut. He had been working, going, doing for the past few days, but that was no excuse for succumbing to sleep. This was his father, and when there was danger, he would stand beside him no matter what. Thranduil looked paler than he had before, his chest barely rising and falling. There was nothing Legolas could do.

"Ada," the elf whimpered, "Ada, please return to me. Please." He began to weep, hopeless as well as helpless.

Somewhere in the West, one of the Valar named Nienna saw an elf's heart laid bare. She listened to his grief and was moved to pity. So she rose and went to Mandos, her brother who judges the spirits of the dead. And she persuaded him to return the fëa of Thranduil Oropherion, if he wished, to his hröa. For his son's sake, she hoped he would.

Legolas leaned back in his chair, reading from his father's favorite book, voice rough and strange in the silence. But he felt a sense of wrongness, some sort of change, and froze immediately. Thranduil's breath hitched, and then the next one never came.

Legolas crumpled to his knees, weak with shock and disbelief. Then the tears began to fall, silent and cold and condemning. He should have come home sooner. He could have, could have done something, would have noticed sooner that all was not well.

Then the Prince made a prayer to the Valar, one that no one would dare make but a lonely child, defiant and painful.

Thranduil raced towards the Halls of Mandos. He wanted to forget that he had failed as a father, a son, a friend. Yet something stopped him, and he came somehow to be before two: a brother and sister.

"My sister has asked that I allow you to return to your body," the brother stated gravely.

"One awaits you, who loves you above his own life," the sister continued huskily. "Your only son has found his way home at last."

"M-m-my son?" Thranduil felt his heart tighten. Surely not after all he had done?

"Will you return?" The brother looked impatient, as if he wished to be doing something else.

Thranduil knew not if all was truly as it seemed, but his answer was the only he could give. "Yes."

Legolas had huddled into his chair, looking smaller than he had before and thankful that at least the chair stood solid. He was exhausted emotionally, drained of the will to move. With nothing to remain awake for, he fell asleep.

When Thranduil awoke, he found his son sleeping, though he had not often done so before. Tears had left glistening tracks behind, and his shoulders shook from time to time in the aftermath of sobs. Thranduil cautiously used a sleeve to wipe the tears away, but Legolas leapt from the chair, knocking it over.

The Elvenking lowered his gaze to his feet, accepting the fact that his own son was afraid of him. Who could blame the boy? But he still didn't know what to do, how to fix anything, to be a good parent. "I'm sorry, Legolas," he whispered, not caring for once that he sounded vulnerable, that his voice broke.

"You were dead," Legolas said trembling. "I-". His eyes grew bright, and he fought to regain his voice. "I should have come home sooner. Oh, Ada." Both could not look at each other from shame.

Then the King stepped forwards, and he wrapped his arms around his son, who stiffened with shock, then returned the gesture. "Ion-nin," Thranduil said. "My son, how I have missed you."

And, for the first time, the two held onto each other to weather the pain.

 **Thanks to Jesus' girl 4ever for helping me with commas :-).**


End file.
